Pitiful? Or Pathetic?

His apartment room was on the 10th floor, high above the buzz of the ground floor. It was probably one of the only few good things about his room, and by few he really meant it.

As the young man exited the elevator, his senses were immediately assaulted by the intense smell of weed and smoke. The smell flooded the hallway, so thick it was nearly suffocating. It had probably come from some resident hotboxing1 their room.

"…Disgusting." Grimacing, he waved his hand across his nose in disgust. 

Along with the smell came a loud and constant hammering sound, probably some resident setting up a shelf or something.

Perhaps hearing him cross their door, a dog, clearly small, began yipping in excitement and aggression. Like a mine in a minefield, the noise set off three other dogs that began barking in turn.

Stains lined the carpet he walked on and the walls he walked through. Muddy footprints and spilled drinks that haven't been cleaned in god knew how long.

None of this was usually allowed. Dogs weren't allowed. Hotboxing definitely wasn't allowed. Constant loud noises? They'd usually be dealt with by management.

But for the apartment that he resided in? Nobody cared, nor did the management bother doing anything about it. They simply lived in filth, becoming the new normal for them.

Nearing the entrance of his apartment door, the young man could immediately spot the small pile of papers sitting outside his doorway. They had been thrown carelessly and stuck in between the frame of his door. Randolph didn't even need to look at them to know what they were.

They were eviction notices, each and every single one of them. They all spoke of the same threat, that legal action would be taken after a week of him not leaving – but it had been three months since he had been getting such notices.

"Cheh!"

Kicking the small, stacked pile to the side, the young man unlocked his door before entering. He didn't bother giving them a second glance.

The apartment he was greeted with was almost completely empty. It was dark and gloomy, not a single light turned on.

Walking to the far end of the room, he spread open the blinds, allowing light to flood into the apartment.

Inside of Randolph's apartment, there was barely any furniture aside from a few plastic stools, an old box TV, a wooden shelf, and a dirty mattress that sat in the corner of the room.

Flicking the light switch on, Randolph was unsurprised seeing as to how it didn't work.

Now that he was in his apartment, he was relatively safe, but he couldn't allow himself to relax just yet.

Entering his small kitchen, he opened the shelf beneath the sink before pulling out a bottle of clean water and a small first-aid kit. Going back outside, he sat down on his mattress before pulling out a few compression bandages.

First, he wrapped the most bruised parts of his body – being mostly his ribs and arms – in compression bandages, securing them tightly. Then, he wet a small compression pad using the water before placing it over his swollen eye.

It's no cold compress, but it'll have to be good enough.

Randolph let out a heavy sigh as he worked.

Reaching over to the side, he pulled out a small radio from between his mattress and the corner of the wall. It was a battery powered radio, and it was the only source of entertainment he had in his dull and inane apartment, filled with nothing.

Switching the station to the local music channel, he continued working on his bruises.

The reason his apartment was so full of nothing was the same reason he was forced to use a battery powered radio. It was also the same reason there was a stack of eviction notices sitting outside of his front door. It was, well, also the reason he was using bottled water instead of ice or a cold-compress.

The electricity to his unit had been cut off by management about a month ago after missing two consecutive months of rent. Along with it went his unit's water supply. Building management had also come to his unit when he was out at work, taking anything they deemed even remotely valuable. The only things they left were those that they either didn't want or were too heavy and troublesome to carry.

Usually this would be completely illegal. Well, at least in normal apartments. But this was no normal apartment, it was known as an informal settlement.

What that meant basically that the apartment building wasn't recognized by the government, and therefore, even if they were subject to laws then almost nothing could be done about it. After all, the people residing in informal settlements, like Randolph himself, were usually the scum of society. They were poorest among the poor. They were usually meant to house people like him, and they were quite common in the slums. They were for people who couldn't have easy access to official apartments, even if they had the financial power.

Even if they were to complain, who would help them? The police?

Nobody, especially not the law, cared about the bottom-dwellers of society, like him.

"Fucking bastards…" Thinking back to his circumstances a couple months ago, Randolph grit his teeth in anger.

He had paid his rent on time for almost every single consecutive month, treating it as top priority when he was able to. He had good relationships with management, and they treated him nicely.

Who knew that the moment he was unable to pay for the exact stipulated2 time, they would immediately take drastic action to try and kick him out.

The building had probably dealt with situations like his before, where the moment they stopped paying, they'd realize that there was nothing they could really do to boot him out.

Could they go to the police? Nope. It was the same reason he was unable to complain to the law as well – being that it was an informal settlement.

In fact, there was probably more than one person in the same boat with him in the apartment complex. But he was definitely among the few that paid rent in fully and on time. He had done so because he had thought the threat of legal action was real.

The thought filled him with anger, directed as well towards his past naivety. If he had known he could live without paying his rent, he would have done so without remorse, especially if he knew how they would have treated him. He could have saved that money himself. But alas, it was too late for regrets. At the very least the rent was fairly cheap, definitely because it was an informal settlement.

"Ugh…" Groaning in pain from the effort, Randolph continued covering his torso in bandages.